The Saving of Thor's Hammer
by ArgentNoelle
Summary: "Have you ever held it?" Darcy asked, and Loki recalled the history and exploits of his and Thor's quests. One in particular came to mind. / In which Thor loses his hammer, and Loki helps him recover it. [Thrymskviða]


This takes place at an unspecified time after the events of (at least) the first movie; for some reason Thor and Loki are staying on Earth with Darcy and Jane.

* * *

"Have you?"

On the other side of the small living room, Thor was still regaling Jane with his wildly exaggerated version of the events of the battle. They were sitting close, his hands making gestures in the air, dancing, the other half of his words settling into them, sketching the world.

"Held his hammer, I mean," Darcy continued, fingers playing with the cord of her ipod, black hair framing her face. The question was frank, quizzical. Anyone else would have had an ulterior motive, some knowledge of the weight of the question. She asked it as with anything else—out of pure curiosity.

Jane leaned into Thor's arm, occasionally laughing, sometimes asking for details on this or that event—not that which Thor would have expounded upon, but the questions had ceased to throw him. He answered with an easy grin, incorporating it into his telling, and Loki realized he had never heard Thor speak this way, sharing himself so easily with another. He could not help but hate her for it, the mortal, so ignorant of all she had done, all she was still doing.

"A few times, rarely," Loki answered, pulling his eyes away. "It was not always enchanted so that only the worthy could wield it."

"Oh."

For a moment he thought she might subside, but she worried the cord with her lips, thinking. "I read some of the stories, you know," she said abruptly. "Did it really happen like that? Thor getting the hammer?"

Loki laughed. "Alas," he said, "no. You have no need to feel any sympathy for me."

"I wasn't going to," she retorted.

He met her gaze. Humans were so easy to read, so predictable. Everything became so, when you had lived for a thousand years.

"Some of the stories are true," he continued. "To an extent. For example—have you heard the one about the giant Trymr?"

"Who?"

"The one where Thor lost his hammer and wore a dress."

"Oh yeah—that one. I've heard of it—that really happened?" her eyes moved to the other side of the room, a small grin playing over her face, as if she were imagining the scene in her mind.

"Not exactly as it is told. But yes, it did happen. It was like this. When Thor had just been gifted Mjolnir he would use any excuse to throw it, to call lightning and storms from it. Sometimes he would leave it lying in the most ridiculous places. But he didn't care—for, you see, it always came when he called." Loki found himself slipping into the familiar rhythm of storytelling, watching as Darcy's attention drifted back to him, and she shifted, curling up on the couch to listen.

"And so it was when one morning Thor could not find her, and she would not come. Of course he came to me from the first. 'Loki!' he called. 'Someone has stolen my hammer!'

'Are you sure?' I asked, unwilling to be dragged out of bed just yet. The sun was hardly over the horizon. 'Perhaps you have misplaced it.'

'I have _not_ misplaced it, someone has stolen it!' Thor growled. Then he paused, and gave me a suspicious look. 'Have _you_ got it?'

Now, I was rather flattered he would think of me as the primary suspect, but I had to reveal that unfortunately, I had not taken his hammer. It took a bit of convincing. By the time he was persuaded of this it was already midday and I had a headache, as well as being very hungry.

'You'll have to tell Odin,' I said.

'I cannot do that!' Thor returned. He knew, of course, the horrible trouble he would get into—losing such a precious gift so soon. It was clear from his face just how miserable he was, but I may have been more receptive to his plight if he had not spent all morning haranguing me with his unfounded speculation.

'Either you do it now, or he will notice you do not have it, and ask you—then you will have to tell him all the same.' And so I went to breakfast.

By the time I had finished, Thor had come up with an idea. Clearly he must have lost it on his last quest. He, the Lady Sif and the Warriors Three had gone on an expedition to the wastes near the borders of Jotunheim—a foolish game, and one which I was happy not to be a part of.

'We must simply retrace my steps,' he announced at last.

'We'? I said. 'I am not coming with you.'

His face was a perfect mixture of dashed hope and bewilderment. If he had learned to do so on a whim, he could have become a talented liar.

Of course I ended up coming with him. We set off soon and without warning anyone, for we didn't want others to know the reason for our journey.

I will not bore you with tales of the road—suffice it to say that the adventure was largely uneventful, and we soon came to the places Thor had been. At every camping spot, rock, tree, what-have-you, Thor scoured around for hours in vain, and our pace was soon slowed measurably. In any event, it was not surprising that we ran into trouble.

The border patrols of Jotunheim had grown scarcer after the war, but they were by no means defunct, and they soon found us—two travelers, alone and (to all appearances) unarmed. Thor's protestations of our innocence were for naught, but being so far from the heart of their land, they could not take us to their King. We were instead brought to the hall of Prince Trymr.

Jotuns, being giants, in almost all cases tower over the gods. We were dwarfed by even the lowliest servants.

Now Trymr, at first, was set to execute us, as we were Asgardians passing over the border unannounced, but by careful persuasion I was able to convince him such would do more harm than good. Still, we had nothing to bargain with, and Trymr was loath to let us go free.

Now Thor was not as careful as I, and it soon slipped who we were, and what the object of our search was. In turn, Trymr had indeed heard of the theft of the mighty Hammer of Thor. The neighboring prince Hreidmarr had been boasting of nothing but that he had found it, talking of high-handed ideas to trade safe return of the hammer for the casket. Of course, he was a raving madman to think such dreams possible—the Allfather would not give his enemies their greatest artifact just to get his son's hammer back, even such a great hammer as this.

But Trymr had a thoughtful look on his cruel face. 'I see how important this is to you,' he said. 'It may interest you to know that your hammer is not the only thing that lies in this man's treasure troves. There is a ring, which I have long wanted to possess, but he will not trade it for anything.'

'What are you proposing?' I asked.

'I know a way,' said Trymr, 'to convey you into his halls.'

'And in return you want this ring,' Thor said. 'Why can you not sneak in yourself?'

'Because no Jotun can do this,' Trymr answered. 'Do we have a deal?'

'We might betray you,' I warned.

'You might,' he said. 'And so I will send my nephew with you. Once you have the hammer, you can do as you will, but my nephew knows where the ring is kept.'

'Very well,' I answered. 'What is this way in which we may pass into Hreidmarr's hall?'

When he explained, Thor grew red with rage, and he would have killed Trymr on the spot, with or without his hammer, but I counseled prudence. After all, we were in the midst of Jotunheim, and this man's mercy was our only hope of getting back Mjolnir, save an attack which no one would condone.

In the end, Thor consented to the plan, though he seethed. Trymr's daughters found dresses for us—the bridal dress would fit only Thor, being the larger of us, and so Thor it was who had to be the bride. As for me, I was beginning to find our predicament rather amusing.

We set out, escorted by Trymr's nephew, to the hall. It is no easy journey to make in skirts, I assure you. Thor would have tripped time and again had I not grabbed his arm.

We came there at last, and Trymr's nephew introduced himself, and ourselves as Asgardian prisoners, gifts for the great Prince. When we had passed through the gates Thor reached up to throw off his veil but I stayed his hand.

'Peace!' I hissed. 'We do not yet know where the hammer is, let us wait until it is in your reach before you ruin this charade.'

And so we came to the man's table. He was an odd sort, with a queer reputation—not the least of which was his interest in Asgardian women. When he saw Thor, his gaze turned dark. 'Ah,' he said. 'This is indeed a fine gift you bring to me.'

I had a hold on Thor's arm, but dug my fingers tighter into his flesh, and after a moment he calmed, silent, as we had counseled him.

'Come!' he said. 'Let us have a feast!'

The man had relations and subjects crowded around, all wanting to get a look at us—some of the younger Jotun had never seen an Asgardian before, and were by turns frightened, disgusted, and intrigued. But we soon were swept out of the way of the throng, being set up beside Hreidmarr's seat on the high table.

Now the feast began. Thor did not skimp on the food, and the prince soon remarked on it.

Thinking quickly, I answered for him. 'Do not mind my sister, she has not eaten in eight days.'

The mead flowed and the night drew to a close. Thor began to fidget more and more, but those around us grew drunker. It was near midnight when Hreidmarr got it into his head to steal a kiss from the bride, and lifted up Thor's veil. I do not know if I should thank abundant spirits or the man's natural stupidity, but instead of crying out a trick, he only recoiled, looking confused. He turned to me, and spoke in what he probably thought was a whisper. 'What is wrong with this woman? Have you seen her terrible eyes?'

'Do not mind that,' I answered, 'She has not slept in eight days.'

Thor growled beside me, and the handle of his cup cracked under the strain.

'Perhaps you should end the feast now,' I continued. 'I am sure my sister is as eager as you to begin the night.'

'That is a good idea,' the prince mused.

'But before that, perhaps a showing of your strengths—indeed, I have heard you have in your possession a mighty war hammer. Would that not be a great prize to prove your excellence?'

'Yes! Bring it in!' he answered. 'Bring in the hammer!'

Soon a servant had rushed out. Thor grew tense beside me. The servant came up to the great table, bearing the hammer, and set it before Hreidmarr.

He reached down to grasp the handle but before his hand could touch it, out shot Thor's. With another he ripped off his veil, and then, with a great crack, he swung the hammer at the giant's head, sending it clean through his scull.

There was a cry, and we stood up. I was ready to flee, but anger had mixed with battle in Thor's veins and he grinned a portent of death for all those before us. Suffice it to say that when we left, no one was alive to tell the tale. None, that is, but Trymr's nephew, who had slipped away long ago into the depths of the castle to find the ring so sought after by his warlord.

We returned to Asgard in triumph; but, of course, to tell of our victory would entail telling also those things which neither of us wished told. And so the kingdom never learned how it was through Loki's cleverness that Thor's gift had been returned to him.'"

Loki finished the tale, realizing that all other talk had ceased. Across the room, Thor and Jane and were as rapt as Darcy.

"You should tell stories more often," Thor said at last.

Loki looked away. "I have no wish to bore you with tales of my exploits," he said, standing up. "Goodnight."

As he left the room, the glow of the lamps faded behind him, until he passed at last into his own shadowy chamber, cold and empty. Behind him, he could hear the murmur of voices, but could not make out the words.

.

.

.


End file.
